by Gwynn White
Vlad summed her up perfectly. That deserved acknowledgment. She waved at the door. “After you.”
With Klaus and the others one step behind, she followed Vlad into a long, narrow entrance hall furnished with a scuffed dark wooden counter. A ledger lay on top of it next to an inkpot and quills. A stout wooden staircase decked with a threadbare red carpet opened to the right of it.
Her boots squelched on the grimy wooden parquet floor as she stepped deeper into the room. On each side of her, sagging wooden doorways gaped between the ragged tapestries covering the walls. Everything about the room suggested faded glory from a more prosperous past. It also reeked of stale ale, pipe weed, and…
She sniffed. “Dogs. Be careful. They might not be friendly.”
“Hence me taking the lead.” Fists clenched at his sides, Vlad prowled through the door on their left.
A wild cacophony of barks, yelps, and squeals greeted him.
She jerked to a stop. “Are they on leashes?” She’d never liked the mangy curs that had fought for scraps around Askavol and the surrounding villages. Feral and starving, they had always frightened her.
These dogs sounded just like those.
She rolled her hips to loosen her spine. Being scared of dogs was crazy when she had so much power. But darkness curse her if she ever hurt an animal. Her vulnerability reminded her that she wasn’t invincible.
“No. They have beds behind the bar,” Vlad called out. “They look friendly enough. Just a bit confused.”
Klaus shuffled to her side and squeezed her hand. “Maybe we should go the other way to find the kitchen.” How well he knew her.
“Good idea.” She waved at the others over her shoulder. “Askavol battalion, we need drinking water as well as ale. Don’t go straight for the booze.”
Goul snorted. “I doubt the fae have left us any.”
As she hoped, the others peeled off to follow Vlad.
The dining hall she and Klaus stepped into was deserted. Six long trestle tables ran the length of the dingy room. Embers flickered dully in a hearth that ran along one wall. At the far end, a wooden door stood ajar, as if permanently wedged on the uneven brick floor.
In guttering candlelight, a dozen or more plates of half-eaten food waited to be cleared away. She stopped at the closest table to inspect the meal. Stew and mashed potatoes. Congealed and glutinous, it looked as if it had been abandoned some hours before. Perhaps the diners had been pulled away by the news that their rebel princess and legal heir to their throne had taken Angharad.
Now those diners were asleep on the road, likely firm in the belief that Angharad still belonged to the Pyreack. Any hope of Ocea fae rising up in support of their rightful queen while Pyreack was weak were dashed. Darien was smart. There was no getting away from that.
She had to be smarter in this war of lies.
She turned to Klaus. “What do you think? If I heal everyone before that deceiver Darien wakes them, do you think they’d know the truth about Angharad?”
His tawny eyes narrowed. “Interesting notion. It would be great for the rebels if it works.”
“Wouldn’t it just. Boa would find herself with more warriors than she ever imagined possible.”
“Definitely worth a try. What would you need?” Klaus looked around the dining room as if the answer lay there.
“I could just spew water magic over everything, but I’m not sure that’s the best way of keeping my secret. It’s the one advantage I have in this game, and I don’t want to squander it. Let me think while we finish this raid.”
Still holding hands, she and Klaus walked at his quickest pace to the open door. They slipped around it into a kitchen.
Here, too, overflowing pots sitting to the side of a black range, dishes left in a sink of water covered with islands of yellowing fat, and partly chopped vegetables on a stained cutting board all suggested a hasty departure. It was as if time had stopped at the Sturgeon’s Roe.
“Could be a pantry over there?” Klaus whispered, as if scared to disturb the abandoned room. He pointed to a door in the shadows. With nowhere else to look, she walked with him to it. “Hope it’s not locked,” he muttered when they reached it.
“If it is, I’ll burn it down.” When he looked askance at her, she added, “I’ll put the flames out before we leave.”
“I’m sure the owners will be thrilled.”
She snorted a laugh. At least their exchange had broken the eerie silence. She turned the tarnished brass handle. As if to mock her, the door swung open on silent hinges.
It was indeed a pantry, with shelves stuffed with food.
She tittered a laugh, then coughed at how weak and rattled she sounded. To cover up, she forced another laugh and spun a pirouette. “We eat! I could do a happy dance.”
“Don’t.” Klaus grabbed her tunic and tugged.
She stopped. “Why? I’m happy. Aren’t you?”
He dropped the bunched fabric and folded his arms. “Your days of putting on a show for me are over. I thought we’d agreed that in Angharad.”
She dropped her hands to her sides. “I can’t be happy that something is finally going right in a morning of wrongs?”
“You can’t fake laughter to stop me worrying.” He made air quotes around worrying, something she always did to make a point. “We’re a team, and I think we should work as one.” He smiled wryly. “Until Averin finally replaces me.” She gasped, and he quickly added, “Which will be fine. Maybe it’ll give me a chance to find someone of my own if you aren’t always breathing down my neck.”
She threw her shoulders back. “Just make sure she doesn’t think we won’t always be friends. Averin knows you and I will be together until death parts us.”
The light and laughter in Klaus’s eyes died. She gulped. If she wasn’t reckless, with her fae immortality, he’d be in his grave long before she even began to age.
Klaus cleared his throat. “We have a deadline. Let’s not spend all day on this.” He shuffled past her and picked up a basket. Moving down the shelves, he tossed cheese, bread, and salamis into it.
She watched him, unable to leave this hanging between them. “Klaus.” When he didn’t answer, she snapped, “Klaus! Don’t you dare ignore me.”
He stopped with a couple of oranges in one hand, but he didn’t look at her.
She took the oranges from him, chucked them into the basket, and held his face with both hands. “Magic has solutions for everything. There must be a spell or a potion or something that can give a human a longer life. Maybe you can use your time in Averin’s library to find it.”
Despite their deadline, Klaus studied her for what seemed like an eternity. He sighed. “I’ll look. Promise. I’d hate it if you died before me, so I understand. Honestly, I do.”
“I should think so.” She grabbed another basket and walked the length of the shelf, sweeping armfuls of food into it.
Klaus tossed a bunch of carrots into his basket. “I don’t mind the prospect of a normal human life span. It’s more than I’ve ever dared to hope for.”
Yet if Darien got his way.… And as great as the plan was to wake up every fae in Ocea, whichever way she looked at it, she couldn’t see how to do it secretly. While there were definite advantages to rubbing Darien’s nose in her water magic, she only had one shot at that all-important reveal. As much as she ached for vengeance, now wasn’t the best time. She swallowed her ire at another win for Darien and concentrated on the shelves.
Averin had been right about the lack of treats. None of the very basic, very practical food in the pantry hinted at fine dining. There wasn’t even a trace of fae snack—the delicious, energizing blend of fruit and nuts all traveling fae munched on like pastries. She swept her arm around a couple of jars of honey and tipped them into her basket. Full and heavy enough for her arm to protest, it didn’t contain enough food for everyone for goodness knew how many days they’d spend traveling on the longboat.
Klaus picked up a tarp someone ha
d tossed into the corner of the room. “Ah, just what we need.”
Under the tarp sat a pile of wooden crates. “Perfect. Well spotted.” She tipped the contents of her basket into one while Klaus started filling another.
Soon four crates brimming with food stood at the door of the bare pantry.
She winced that she had no silver coin to leave behind for the owner. Somehow, taking this food was different to the many times she, Tarik, and Klaus had raided the Kňazer and Marka’s pantry.
She tossed her head back. The best payment she could offer would be to set fire to the soft-spoken king who had them all gripped by the throat. Fire spluttered on her skin, then vanished, as if her magic agreed.
Klaus gave her a warning look. “No burning the inn to the ground.”
“As if I would.” Not on purpose, anyway.
He gave a wheezy snort and slumped against the empty shelves. Sweat glistened on his pale face. He huffed a deep breath. “We’ll need the rest of the battalion to lug all this to the longboat.” Unlike her, he hadn’t had the benefit of fae fruit-and-nut snack or hearty meals eaten at Boa’s table. Or fae strength. Even if hers wasn’t as honed as their fae companions.
Straight from the orphanage in Askavol via the death camp, Klaus was skinny and gaunt. More than anything, he needed to get to the palace, where he could build up his health and vitality. Both essential if he were to have that long, happy life they both craved for him.
She started for the door. “I’ll fetch the others. You wait here.”
He grinned and pushed off from the shelf. “Not likely. Just my luck that evil king will wake up the town while you’re gone, and I’ll be chased out of here by an enraged fae wielding a rolling pin.”
She bumped shoulders with him, laughing. “What a brave brute you are. Rolling pins are the least of our worries.”
He shrugged. “Healthy sense of self-preservation. That’s what I call it.”
They chuckled as they made their way back into the entrance hall. She remembered the dogs in the tavern and stopped, even though she couldn’t hear them. “Hey! Where’s everyone? We’ve got food.”
Feral Fox appeared from around a corner. “Boys and me have rolled a barrel of ale and a barrel of water to the longboat. We’ve even figured out how to hoist a sail. But I have a worry. How do we know the water in the barrel won’t attack us if we drink it?”
“Good point.” The water they’d drunk in Ocea had been carried in water skins, or the barrels had been spirited in. “We can’t risk it. I’ll have to fill a barrel for us.”
“Darien’s curse won’t affect it?” Feral Fox looked sour, as if talking about cursed water left a bad taste in his mouth.
“He has no control over my magic. I have to assume that includes our drinking water.” Notch up another score to her masterful bargain.
It seemed a small victory compared with all Darien had won today.
Feral Fox gestured to the open door that led onto the street. “Those poor creatures are still out cold. That includes our prince and his friends.” He buried his fingers in his grimy hair and scratched. The sound set her teeth on edge. Everyone in this outfit needed a bath and a change of clothing. “What’s your plan for helping them?”
She sighed, hating to admit the truth. “It’s tricky. Whatever I do, it can’t be dramatic enough to capture Darien’s attention.” She kicked at the air, wishing it were Darien.
Pfft. You’re no fun. Stasha jumped at the unexpected voice in her head. Cursed water magic. If it had arms, it would likely fold them in a huff.
Klaus shook his head, spilling greasy brown hair into his eyes. “Even better if it happens with you in full sight of Averin so he doesn’t suspect your part in it.”
She tapped her chin with a finger smelling of cheese, salami, and pickled onions. “How does that work?”
Klaus slumped down on the stairs and flopped against the wooden railing. “It’s water we’re talking about, right? The stuff we drink, just magicked?”
She nodded. He was clearly onto something. “Remember, time’s tight.”
“And fae have that special healing thing. Is that right?”
She nodded. “What of it? They’ve been spelled to sleep until Darien wakes them. Fae healing can’t affect that.” She shrugged. “I think.”
Klaus preened. “You think. But you don’t know. So here’s what we do. While you fill a barrel of drinking water for us, you also fill another couple for our display. One barrel goes to the longboat. The battalion can take the other two up the road. While you stay with Averin, we can randomly slosh water on the other fae. Of course, we’ll do Trystaen, Suren, and Eliezar first. Time your kiss of life right, and Averin will wake when they do.” He shot her a saucy grin, which she returned with a glare. “Averin will see other fae are also awake and won’t suspect you.”
Feral Fox huffed noisily. “What if Prince Averin asks about the drinking water on the longboat?” The emphasis he placed on Averin’s title suggested that he didn’t approve of Klaus’s familiarity. Klaus was going to Zephyr as a scholar and not a soldier, so the same rules didn’t apply to him.
She bit her lip. “We’ll have to think of a lie. Just don’t look at Eliezar when you fib.”
“Or we can just forget about drinking water and stick to ale.” Feral Fox pulled up his tunic to scratch his very hairy stomach.
Eyes averted from the furry mess, she purred, “My, you are a cool operator. I had no idea you were so wily.”
Why she was surprised was a mystery. Feral Fox’s ability to organize and motivate had kept her and hundreds of other Askavol orphans alive when, by rights, they should have died of hunger.
Feral Fox grunted. “You think I dreamed the fighting pits up out of nothing?” He tapped his head. “I’m a street rat, Stasha. Just like you. Street rats think on their feet.” He started for the tavern. “There are empty barrels in the cellar off the bar. Get started, and I’ll round up the other lads to do the rest.”
Footsteps outside the inn reached them. Thin, watery sunlight lit the open door to the street. At least an hour must have passed since Darien had knocked out the town. He could wake everyone at any minute. Or he could be silently invading Swiftguard with a contingent of fresh Pyreack fae. Her fire crackled comfortingly across her skin.
“The rest of what?” Followed by Vlad and Goul, Ivan stepped into the entrance hall.
Her fire slipped away without a whimper.
Klaus struggled to his feet. “We’re waking Averin and our other fae. Stasha’s going to do her magic stuff. In the meantime, we need to get the food we’ve filched to the longboat.” He shot her a questioning look. “Do we ditch the water barrel and stick with ale?”
“Makes sense.”
Ivan pushed up his sleeves to show off his scrawny arms. “Consider it done. The food at least.” A crooked grin. “Some of it just might not make it onto the boat.”
“No kidding. I’m right behind you.” Vlad slapped Ivan on the shoulder, and they both headed for the dining room to collect the food.
“You’re with me, lad,” Feral Fox said to Goul. “We need another barrel of ale for the longboat.”
She followed them into the tavern but stopped. “Those dogs—”
“Gone. Took off when we we’re getting the first barrel.” Goul sounded sorrowful.
Did he like mutts? She really knew so little about the people who’d now become so important to her.
Time for those discoveries would come later, once they’d left Ocea.
She strode purposefully to the bar counter to get her part of the job done.
“And me?” Klaus’s voice was low, icy even. He stood in the doorway to the tavern. “Doesn’t the Askavol Fighting Pit Battalion have a job for me?” She stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. His face was taut, and his eyes strained. “I worked just as hard in Angharad as anyone else.” His burnt hand drifted to his neck and rubbed his puckered skin.
Her heart went out to him. Bef
ore she could remind him that he wasn’t a soldier, Feral Fox spluttered. “Of course, lad. But—but….” His twisted face suggested he was racking his brain for something Klaus could manage.
She strode back and grabbed Klaus’s hand. “You’re with me. And then the magic-sprinkling team will need a scholar to help them.” She dragged him into the tavern and whispered, “We’ve always needed each other. Nothing changes that.”
Klaus grunted. “So I can stand around helpless while you do stuff?” His leg dragged behind him as he crossed the uneven parquet floor.
She stopped at the bar to hiss, “No. To chase off the hounds if they come back to their beds.” She kicked a pile of pungent cushions on the floor. The disgusting things were prickly with dog hair. That she smelt the dogs over every other discordant reek in the tavern was testament to how much she feared the critters.
Klaus’s shoulders snapped back. “Consider it done. No dog will come within ten feet of you.” He smiled. “Because they’ll be too busy being petted by me.”
Another twit who liked dogs. Although that wasn’t a surprise. Klaus had always dreamed of owning a puppy. Maybe he could get one in Ilyseryph—
She shook her head. Averin’s palace wasn’t home. It was a place she and Klaus were going so she could learn magic control and end the war, and for Klaus’s leg to be fixed. Best to keep that firmly in mind.
She stomped toward the yeasty smell of ale spilling through an open doorway behind the bar counter. It opened onto a short flight of rickety wooden stairs, which quickly vanished into darkness. She scooped up a snuffed candle from the bar counter and summoned a flame.
I’m a weapon, not a matchbox, her fire magic said lazily.
She almost dropped the candle. Excuse me?
You heard. My days of lighting torches and candles for you are over. Her fire chuckled. You, me, our water—we’re all poised for greater things. The sooner you accept that, the better we’ll all get along.
She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or toss the candle. She settled for a bewildered snort as she scrambled around the bar, looking for a fire-making kit. A battered tin stuffed with a tinder and flint sat next to a blade beneath the counter. She grabbed it, lit the candle with shaking hands, and let the pale golden glow lead her down the stairs.